


Duende

by Paper_Crane_Song



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s01e06 Terra Nova, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 22:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8304320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paper_Crane_Song/pseuds/Paper_Crane_Song
Summary: Missing scene to Terra Nova. As Archer helps Reed back to the shuttlepod, he wonders what kind of man his Armoury officer is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As I've been watching Enterprise recently, I've enjoyed seeing the relationship between Archer and Reed progress. In times of danger they seem to communicate wordlessly, effortlessly, and yet the rest of the time they are so at odds with one another. And so this story is my attempt to look more deeply at their relationship, through the lens of Terra Nova.
> 
> The quotes at the beginning represent Malcolm's thoughts in that wonderful scene with the music. The rest of the story is from Archer's point of view. 
> 
> I would really appreciate any comments and feedback you may have.

_Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,_  
_Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not._  
_Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments_  
_Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices_  
_That, if I then had waked after long sleep,_  
_Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,_  
_The clouds methought would open and show riches_  
_Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,_  
_I cried to dream again._

\- Caliban's speech from The Tempest (act 3, scene 2)

_I do not know what age I was when I got lost in the pea-drills in a field behind the house, but it is a half-dream to me, and I’ve heard about it so often that I may even be imagining it….I'm sitting as if just wakened from a winter sleep and gradually become aware of voices, coming closer, calling my name, and for no reason at all I have begun to weep._

-Seamus Heaney, Finders Keepers

* * *

 

Malcolm is waiting, quietly, patiently, as I finish arranging a rendez-vous point with the Novans, and when I look at him I find that he has been watching me all along. He reads my mind and straightens, preparing to leave.

I used to find it disconcerting, Malcolm's attentiveness towards me. When I'm with Trip, I know he's thinking about his engines, and what Chef's cooking for dinner that day, and a hundred other things besides. It's relaxing. He's content to be, and to let me be. As for T'Pol, oftentimes she's paying more attention to her science console than she is to me.

But with Malcolm, his laser-sharp focus is always upon me, observing, anticipating. And it's a little tiring if I'm honest. I can never let my guard down. But I also know now that it is part of who he is, and what makes him such a valuable tactical officer. Like earlier on the bridge for example; all I had to do was glance at him and he leapt to his feet to join the landing party. And when I left him as a hostage with the Novans, I didn't need to explain myself to him because he already knew what I was thinking.

And that's the problem. We seem to understand each other so well on a professional level, and yet I have no grasp of what he's like as a man. Before, when we were escaping through the caves, he fell, but he assured me that he was all right, and I believed him. It was only when I looked back after hearing the scuffle and saw blood on the sand that I realised he'd been shot. But why would he let me think otherwise?

It is then that one of the Novans approaches us furtively, and presses a walking stick into Malcolm's hands. I can tell that Malcolm is surprised; he thanks the Novan with a nod, and the Novan melts back into the caves. He looks at me, slightly bemused, and I raise my eyebrows and shrug, hiding my smile. Perhaps the Novans are feeling guilty for shooting him, but I would prefer to think – to hope - that some quality in Malcolm has endeared himself to them.

“Lead the way, Lieutenant,” I say, gesturing.

“Gladly, sir.” He is leaning heavily on the cane but seems to be managing all right. I raise my hand in parting to the Novans and then follow my Armoury officer through the tunnel.

When we're out of sight, Malcolm says, “Actually sir, I'm not quite sure which way to go.” His tone is apologetic, and I suspect he is blaming himself for not paying attention to the route on the way down.

“That's all right Malcolm,” I say, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “I imagine you were probably a little preoccupied when they brought you down here.”

He responds with a slight smile. “Yes, I was, rather.”

I shine the flashlight ahead of us. “T'Pol's scans said we're about ninety metres from the surface. Do you think you can make it?”

“I'll try my best, sir.”

I know enough about him now not to take his words at face value, and so I look at him, really look at him. He appears steady enough, though he looks tired; that's understandable, given the circumstances. I can tell he's uncomfortable under my scrutiny and so I give his shoulder a final squeeze before releasing it. “I'll lead the way.”

The tunnels have narrowed, forcing us to walk in single profile. I am in front, holding the flashlight and scanning for any changes in the caverns after that last bout of seismic activity. Behind me, I can hear Malcolm's shuffling gait, the tapping of the cane on the rock. He hasn't spoken since we set off, and while he may be comfortable with the silence, I'm not. Especially because there's something I need to say to him, words that have been weighing on me ever since this all happened.

I clear my throat. “I'm sorry I left you behind down there, Malcolm.”

“That's quite all right, sir,” he says.

“I don't mean as a hostage...” I frown and then start again. “Not that I'm not sorry about that too. But I meant back when you were shot. I didn't realise.”

There is a pause. It's frustrating that I can't see his face to read his expression. And then he says, “Actually, sir, I intended that you leave me behind. You're the Captain; your safety is paramount.”

“And yours isn't?”

He doesn't reply, but I leave him be for the moment; the terrain is getting steeper, and I can hear him breathing heavily behind me.

And then he surprises me by saying, “You should think of me as part of the ship, sir. A component. You're indispensable. I, on the other hand, am not.”

I've heard enough. I stop and turn round. “Why don't you let me be the judge of who's indispensable and who isn't?” I say lightly.

“Yes, sir,” Malcolm says, but I get the feeling he's humouring me.

He's still breathing hard, and I notice that he's a lot paler than he was ten minutes ago. He's sweating too, even though it's not warm.

“Let's take five,” I say.

He looks dismayed but complies nonetheless. I help ease him down slowly so that he is sitting with his back against the cave wall, and I sit down opposite him. He seems to be having trouble catching his breath, and I sense his embarrassment as the sound fills these otherwise silent tunnels. To spare him, I fill the air with words, talking about the problems Travis had landing the shuttlepod, how Trip and his team were setting up a rig, that we'd meet them on the surface.

After a few minutes, Malcolm is breathing easier again. His arms are folded tightly around him, his bad leg stretched out in front of him, and he is gazing at the tunnel we've just come from. I get the impression he'd rather be anywhere but here, stuck with his Commanding Officer, forced to assume the role of injured crewman rather than acting as a functioning cog in a machine.

And I wonder how I can serve alongside such a man. There's a reason Enterprise is crewed by people, not computers, and I'm not sure how I feel about commanding someone who seems so willing to suppress his humanity.

“You know, sir,” he says suddenly, breaking into my reverie, “it wasn't all bad down there.”

“Oh?”

“There was a moment when the Novans started playing these – these skull pipes. From the skulls of those creatures we saw.” He smiles slightly. “And the music they made… Do you know, I think it was quite possibly the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.” He looks up at me then, and I am struck full force by how different he looks. His entire face has lit up, and there is an open, animated expression that I have never seen before. That I have never had the privilege to see before. And my heart warms to him.

But then he looks away, self-conscious, breaking the connection. “We should probably get going again, sir. I'm ready when you are.”

And as I haul him to his feet and we set off once more, I find that I don't mind his taking refuge in his rank. I'm just relieved to discover that there is a man behind the uniform after all. One that I look forward to getting to know better.

_Finis_


End file.
